


Weapon of Choice: Book II

by xantissa



Series: Weapon of Choice [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam set his plan in motion, John and Dean no longer remember he even existed. But is it that simple? Fate seems to have other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> direct continuation of Book I, takes place 8 months after chapter 22.
> 
> AN: the Families are a part of my original world that never got written, sadly. They will not be a very important part of the story but I needed the organization for Sam’s sake.

Book II: Chapter 23

 

“… leave message the message after the beep.” The automatic message mocked Dean again. It’s been months since his Dad just disappeared, telling Dean nothing. Ever since whatever contact he managed to wrangle out of his father was perfunctory at best. It gnawed on him. Since they wasted the yellow eyed demon that killed mom, Dean expected things to go back to normal. He thought John would relax a bit, stop with being so damn paranoid. And the man did, he even agreed to taking vacation from time to time.

Everything went well for the next three months. Until John went on a standard supply run. He was supposed to just take some stuff from one of his secret hiding places and come back. Instead of two days he was gone a week and after coming back he immediately split, acting even more paranoid than ever.

Dean was left alone again and it didn’t sit well with him at all. The fact that he started seeing a fucking ghost just a week later did not help his mood. He started drinking more with nobody to keep him in line, started to smoke and while he still hunted it just wasn’t the same when doing it alone.

The ghost was a young woman, very young and blonde. Pretty in that kind of apple pie life he never found very appealing. At first he was just seeing her in his dreams, standing at the edge of his consciousness and just watching. He had no idea who she was. He did his best to find out, but with no luck. He had no idea why she haunted him and what she wanted. The girl didn’t threaten him, she even helped by trying to warn him of danger a few times during a job. He got the impression she wanted to communicate with him but he just didn’t get the message.

He rotated his shoulder, still sore from being thrown around by the demons.

“We’re done packing Dean.” A low, hoarse voice said behind him.

He turned to the man in early forties.

“You leaving now Jeff?” He asked tiredly. He liked Jeff and his brother all right but he was tired and wanted a drink. He didn’t dare drink in front of the other hunters because with his luck his Dad would immediately know about it and… he just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable disappointment in his eyes.

Jeff Hower and his brother were fellow hunters, very new in the business but both were ex-military and that helped a lot. Dean met them on a job a few weeks back, when instead of a single person dabbling in black magic there seemed to be a whole fucking coven of witches in the town. He got his ass handed to him and wondered if he would even save his skin when he stumbled on the new hunters. Jeff and Mason were good men, quiet, nomadic types that hunted not because of some kind of horrid tragedy but because they couldn’t just sit and do nothing when people were dying.

Out of necessity Dean had to team up with then on the witch hunt. They were well trained and realized that they lacked in knowledge. They listened to Dean’s orders without complaint. They finished that hunt together and since then they hooked up whenever a bigger hunt came by. Dean had to admit that having back up on the nastier stuff tended to leave more of his body intact. Less injuries all around and the cases were solved much more quickly.

“Yeah, Mason wants to visit our family, they live not far from here. I figure we will make a vacation out of it. Call if you get hold of something big, okay?” Jeff shook his hand and looked at him again, seriously. “I mean it Dean. Don’t get yourself in too deep. You won’t help anybody if you’re fucked up.”

Dean snorted. “Jeez, man, you are such a mother hen sometimes. Relax, I’ll call if I need back up.”

Jeff nodded and got into his truck. Mason waved at him from the passenger seat, his left arm in a sling.

Dean watched them drive away from the hotel and sighed. He felt jealous sometimes of them. Jeff had a brother that hunted with him, he wasn’t alone. Also the way they hunted. They helped people, saved them but they also had their own life and a legal source of income, some kind of family business their father ran. It was just so bizarre to see almost normal people hunting, not the half crazed lot that were hunters usually.

It was time to drink some of the Jack he had stashed in his room and then sleep for a week. He was beat.

 

* * *

When the truck was far away from the hotel not to be seen anymore, Mason leaned down and popped the hidden compartment under his seat. The only thing in there was a cell phone. He switched it on and dialed the only number in the memory.

“Speak.” The voice always gave Mason the shivers. It was low, sexy but somehow cold. Just a little bit too perfect to be just human, at least to Mason.

“We’re done with the hunt. Dean Winchester tracked down some heavy demon activity. As you wanted we made ourselves available for back up.”

“Any injuries?”

“Winchester is fine, just a bit of bruising. I got my arm in a sling and Jeff came out unscathed as usual.” Mason threw his brother a wry look, and Jeff just snorted at him. Not his fault his brother was clumsy as hell.

“And John Winchester?”

Mason winced. “The father wasn’t there. Again. I don’t know why. I tried to get something out of Dean but I get the feeling that he doesn’t know either. Something’s up but I have no idea what. The old man is keeping things close to his chest.”

There was a muted sound, maybe a half bitten off curse from the other side and then a sigh. “Give me Jeff.”

Mason shrugged and handed the phone to his brother. Jeff glared at him, the older brother hated driving and talking on the phone, but took it nonetheless. They were supposed to give updates as often as possible.

“Yeah boss?”

“What are your impressions?” The voice asked. Jeff never saw the man that hired them eight months ago. All he knew he and his brother got hired by a middleman, got briefed on the supernatural as seen by outsiders from the Families. They were told to build up their credibility as hunters and make his way towards the Winchester family and try to give as much backup as possible. Basically they were supposed to guard the Winchesters and in case of separation make contact with the son.

It was a good, straightforward job and they got to save some people from nasty things. Still their middleman, a trusted guy, told them in no uncertain terms that should anything happen to their charge they would not like the consequences. They boss was said to be a truly scary motherfucker.

From what he saw, or rather heard, their boss was young. Very young but also cold as ice. He did some digging and managed to learn that the guy had a high position in the Dubois Family’s special forces. That was enough, after that Jeff stopped digging. The Dubois Family had special teams very much akin to military special forces. They also had an unofficial name in on the streets. Dean Men Walking. Most of them were scary as fuck, loyal and just didn’t give a damn if they lived or died, just that the job got done. No sane man would cross them without a death wish. So Jeff and Mason were very, very serious about this assignment.

“Dean’s not doing good. He’s drinking heavily.” Mason shot him a surprised look, he didn’t notice anything amiss. “He doing a good job hiding it but I know the signs. His skin looks worse than it did a few weeks earlier, he’s lost weight, and when he’s tired or hasn’t had a chance for a drink, his hands shake. Right now he is functional and probably still at an early stage enough, but soon it’s going to become an addiction. I observed him when he tried to call his father a few times. Mason is right, Dean has no idea where John is or what is going on. He is also hiding something. There was definite guilt in his body language when thinking about his father.”

“Could it be the alcohol?”

Jeff shook his head then remembered the man couldn’t see him. “No. That explained the shame. The guilt is something other. Very personal. There’s no way he would confide in me or Mason about it.”

“Damn.”

“You want us to track down John Winchester?” Jeff offered, half from sense of obligation and half because he truly liked Dean Winchester.

“No. It doesn’t matter how good you are, da... John would know.” Jeff noticed the slip. It happened a few times before but Jeff still didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Stay on Dean. I’ll wire you the money today. Try to find a way to get some money to Dean. I’ll cover whatever you manage to slip him.”

The phone disconnected without another word and Jeff switched it off.

“So?” Mason prodded.

“No changes, we are still guarding Dean.”

Mason nodded. It was okay. He liked this job and got paid really well for it too.

 

* * *

Sam cut the connection but kept holding the phone in his hand and staring at it, eyes unfocused, as his mind wandered.

There had to be something keeping John away. He kept very careful, very distant watch over his family ever since he was actually able to drag himself from the hospital bed after the various healers, telepaths and who knew what else were done rearranging both his mind and his soul. As he expected John and Dean were hunting together almost constantly. They were a good unit, fast and effective. They sometimes separated for the easier jobs but tended to gravitate towards each other in only a few days. This... this separation felt different. It was way too long for starters, and the fact that John didn’t keep in touch was most disturbing. Sam knew his father and knew that the man had serious control issues.

“Samuel?” he heard Megan, his second in command, call him. The woman was about ten years older than him, an attractive, very fit brunette with an air of military around her. He kept her hair in a neat tail, her clothes were always sensible, designed more for field work than any concern for her looks. She didn’t wear make up, didn’t try to hide her age. Even though she wasn’t beautiful by any stretch of imagination, her lithe, fit body made it very hard to actually judge her age.

Sam never understood why he was made into a leader of their fucked up little team and Megan, with twenty years of experience in this kind of stuff, was made his advisor, a trainer in all things Family.

“Yes?”

“She’s waiting for you.”

There was no need to tell him who ‘she’ was.

Maya Dubois.

The head of the Dubois Family, as high standing as it could get in this society, was uncomfortably young. Barely twenty two she was even younger than Sam. She was forced into the leadership position by a forced fight to the death with her own sister. She had the misfortune of surviving the barbaric tradition. As one of the team leaders Sam had to spend a lot of time with her while taking assignments or giving his reports and he absolutely hated it. She was a very attractive blond, uncomfortably similar to Jessica in looks. She was also very, very broken. Sometimes Sam wondered why she tried to keep the Dubois Family afloat despite the many problems if she hated it as much as she sometimes looked like she did. It was in her eyes, warm and brown, tired like an old woman’s and the desperate way she kept looking for members to join her special squads.

The Dubois were one of the High Families, their special ability was in negating magic of all kind and some very disconcerting animal characteristics. Depending on who you met they ranged from feline to canine to even reptile in some cases. The predators were most common though and the ruling family always had affinity for felines. The strength of their abilities depended on purity of their bloodline. And the ruling family had the purest of them all. It was true for all existing High Families.

Sam was surprised when that slip of a girl demanded he spar with her. He was twice as heavy as her, trained since he was very young and his abilities were heavily boosted up by the Weapon.

That last thing didn’t matter since it seemed she had remnants of a damaged Soul Weapon living in her soul too. Even without that Sam would probably get his ass handed to him anyway. He didn’t expect her to hit harder than his Dad and his brother combined. She kept throwing him around the room like he was a half empty bag, kept sliding away from his grips like she was made from water, just slipping through his fingers. And when she demanded he call his Weapon, Sam expected her to do the same. Instead she showed him the last of her bloodline abilities. The tips of her fingers morphed and changed into deadly claws. Turned out she really knew how to use them too. He was hard pressed to fight her to a stand still.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said gently when they were packing their things in the gym afterwards. “I have double joints, double tendons and completely different bone structure. In short bursts my muscles can produce strength equal to four healthy men. However my stamina sucks. If it was a true fight, with intent to harm, thing would probably turn out different.” She mused.

“Why do you say that? You have so many advantages...”

She looked at him then, her eyes holding both understanding and pity.

“Because I don’t have anywhere close to the rage you keep inside. That emotion, that sheer scope of feeling will drive you to unbelievable feats of endurance. There’s darkness and power inside you. A lot of people have those qualities, but you can harness your pain and anger into a kind of cold focus that frankly scares the shit out of me. No wonder the Soul Weapon was drawn to you, you are a weapon.”

Sam did not like the things she was telling him. He always saw himself as a geek, a normal boy with a fucked up past. Nothing more.

“And now you hold the weapon in your hands, huh?” He sneered, looking at the black tattoo twisting on his right wrist.

She looked at it too. A few weeks ago she had that tattoo also. It was a very simple yet unbreakable act of ancient magic. A contract on their skin. Both sides of the contract had the markings. Should they try to weasel out of the deal, try to cheat in any way the tattoo would turn into tiny thorned vines that would travel with the veins inside the host body until they reached the heart and ripped it apart. Once the contract was done however, they simply disappeared. Maya was supposed to make the spell happen. She was the only one with contacts to get the person capable of casting that spell to actually do it. Once it was completed her tattoo faded. She made dozens of contracts before and always delivered what she promised. That was how she actually composed her teams. Since there were not enough Dubois members to do all the duties she was looking for outside help and binding them with contracts.

Sam’s tattoo was very vivid. He promised to work for her in payment for the spell, for as long as he lived. He expected it wouldn’t really be that long with the way his body and mind were breaking down.

He never knew what difference a healthcare with knowledge of supernatural would make. It turned out that curing the exhaustion caused by the Weapon, while not simple, was possible. He was also taking it disgustingly well. He had telepath scour his mind for any and all powers and shutting them down one by one. Even when he was so raw inside he wanted to scream he had to admit it made him feel better, stronger. Then came the doctors, the healers and to his disgust even a psychiatrist. And the diet. It turned out that a lot of the energy the Weapon leached from him could be replaced by actual energy from food. So now he had to eat at least nine thousandth calories a day. After they were done with him the hospital bills were in tens of thousands of dollars and while the Weapon still leached the energy from him it was a very small amount. Suddenly instead of weeks, Sam had years and years of life in front of him.

The unwanted therapy was having an effect too. Even he had to admit that talking to a shrink that knew about the supernatural and actually had experience with it was... something different.

After all those months he had to admit he felt better. Not only physically but also mentally. He worked through a lot of the anger and guilt connected to his... enslavement, and all the things he did then.

Sam cracked his neck and headed towards the main office in the huge goddamned mansion.

All that healing didn’t mean Maya wasn’t working him like a damned dog, often giving his team two or even three assignments a week, having him stumble all over the country. It sometimes felt like he was still hunting with his family with the only difference there were more people, they stayed in much better hotels and the car was a mini van. Other than that? Things were very, very similar. Endless hours on the road, then the mad scramble to solve the case and then rinse and repeat. Of course the fact that half his team abhorred the other half was just icing on the cake.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door and pushed it open not waiting for a response. He long since learned that most Dubois had very sharp senses and Maya would know who was behind the door.

“Good evening.” He said politely. Maya didn’t care for pleasantries but the man beside her thought differently.

Malcolm was a severe man in his early forties. Close cropped black hair, wire framed glasses, a suit and a tie at all hours of the day, looked like a man without an ounce of humor. He was ostensibly called Maya’s advisor but unofficially he was her only caretaker since she was twelve years old. There seemed to be some kind of horrible scandal involved, judging by the way people just wouldn’t talk about it but so far the only thing Sam learned was that Malcolm was not one of the Family. He was absolutely, perfectly human. He also gave Sam the chills.

“Hello. Heard you tracked down the killer in just two days.”

Sam sighed and got set to repeat the whole sordid story from the beginning. That was what they did. It seemed that the Families had their own set of rules and the Dubois Family was equivalent to a police force. They solved crimes committed by members of their society, judged them and delivered the appropriate punishment. Sam and his team were responsible for finding people who broke the cardinal rules and delivering them to the place of their punishment. It was both easier and harder to do because they tended to be either supernatural or so completely twisted it seemed like he was hunting the nasty of the week. What was harder to accept that in Families lore there was nothing like life imprisonment. They were using death penalty for the harshest of crimes and other very, very ugly punishments too with slavery being considered a light sentence. For example, for a proven without a doubt rape, the punishment was immediate castration. Thankfully Sam mostly got to deal with cases involving members of the Families that lived in the outside world and started committing crimes using their abilities.

Maya also seemed to take care that none of her teams burned out and sent him on emotionally easier cases too. There were the odd missing person investigations, the mystery disappearance they were supposed to solve or something as simple as transport duty for valuable objects or people.

She kept very tight control of his Weapon, made sure Sam was in perfect health and could keep on working. And there was a lot of work. Really a lot. They had backlog cases dated a decade back. Sam thought that a lot of those cases Dean and he could have stumbled upon like a usual case they worked.

For the most part Sam was doing good. Working with financial backup and with a trained team resulted in less injuries and faster effects. For all his protesting he liked it, liked feeling accomplished, liked that his team was quickly becoming known as the best. He liked the respect it got him, the benefits of the better cars and phones and the ability to pay for his meals with his own credit card. It felt like a betrayal to Dean but it was everything he had right now. He used much of his money to help Dean. He carefully followed his route, bribed the local law enforcement or the occasional waitress to make sure that when police came knocking, they would pretend not to recognize his brother. He did everything he could to get Dean in touch with people that would offer him favor in exchange for help in a hunt or something like that. Anything, really, to make sure Dean got money and weapons.

It never seemed to be enough, but it was all he could do. He was stable enough to live now. Maybe he needed time away from his brother to pull himself together. In a place that he knew held no mercy for him, it was the only way to survive. Dean could never be this heartless. And if his hands still shook at the sight of one of the telepaths that worked on him, well that was just incentive to keep his mental training regime so that he never had to deal with them again. Besides some small part of Sam, believed that he deserved whatever happened to him, deserved the punishment.

There was something Sam noticed that seemed odd to him. While people related to the Families knew about the existence of demons, they never saw one. Not ever.

“I have a case for you.” Maya nodded at Malcolm and the man pulled out a folder from the pile on his desk and gave it to Sam. “There’s one of the lesser families that keeps afloat by delivering very specific... services.” There was a kind of distaste in the woman’s voice. “They train and deliver trained companions for people with a lot of influence both in the Families as well as those outside. Even here money is still a power that can sway the order of things. Many Families are in serious financial trouble. Just because someone is good at magic or has some other innate supernatural ability doesn’t mean they know how to earn the kind of money that is needed to support a whole Family.”

Sam thought of the few solo missions he was handled over the last few months, the ones that had nothing to do with the Dubois Family and all to do with the money.

“Though small, the Morisons have a lot of influence. They find young teenagers, very young, mostly from families with many children or some other problems, and offer them a deal. The kinds sell themselves to the Morisons and the Family takes care of their whole remaining family.”

“What happens to those kids?” Sam asked, feeling vaguely queasy in his stomach. He had very ugly suspicions.

“Different things. It depends on the buyers. Some are trained into bodyguards, some into assassins, some into assistants, others into... companions sometimes even sex slaves. Whatever the buyer specifies will be done. The kids are trained fourteen hours a day, often with the help of telepaths and healers to speed up the process. After the children reach the specified age and skill level they are presented to buyer. The usual deal states that once the buyer dies the companion is free. The companions are also paid wages. Usually there is a big enough difference in age that the companions can still have happy lives after the contract.”

“And it’s legal? Nothing is done about it?” Sam wanted to know.

Maya shot him a look.

“And what can I do? The kids agree to the training and are usually sold after they are legal. The sale also occurs with the consent of the companion. There is no violence involved. You would be surprised how many desperate kids look to the Morisons for help.”

“It still doesn’t make it right. They use those kids.”

Maya smiled, but it was a small, bitter curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s still a lot better fate than some of the other things that could happen to them.”

Sam got the impression she was speaking about herself. He thought of all the rumors he heard about the way she was forced into taking the throne so to say. Yeah, choosing ones own fate, whatever it may be, could still be better than having others push it at you.

“So what is the case?”

“A certain man involved in mafia, a very, very important man bought such a companion fifteen years ago. He is now in a coma after a severe heart attack a few days ago. He is expected to die in the next forty eight hours. The boy he bought, Alan, is now a grown man. He spent his whole life in a huge mansion belong to his master, very rarely leaving it at all. From what the profile from the Morisons said, the buyer demanded a boy of extreme beauty and untouched by sexuality. They trained the boy in arts, politics, mathematics, philosophy and every other subject that would make him a pleasant companion but also made sure to erase any kind of sexuality from the boy. He was on constant meds to stop him ever hitting puberty. It’s actually the Morisons that asked us for help. There seems to be a problem this time. Usually Alan would be granted a period of acclimation and then set free to live his life.”

“So what is wrong?”

“Two things. One is that rival organizations think that they could grab some business from the dying man if only they had more info on it. Unfortunately the rumor about Alan spread a few years back and everybody knows that the old man trusted Alan implicitly for very many years. They want to kidnap him and interrogate him.”

“And the other?”

“It seems that old man’s son is as obsessed with Alan as his father was before. He is a grown man now, influential and is raising hell to be allowed to buy Alan for himself. It raised a lot of outcry in the Families. We let the Morisons exist mostly because the companions are usually freed after a certain time. Selling a grown man that already served one contract is... controversial. Ultimately it was decided that Alan would be taken from the mansion he is now, waiting by his master’s bedside and brought here, on neutral ground for questioning. It will be his own choice to be free or enter another contract.”

“I want you and your team to go and get the man at a given signal and bring him here. Safe and sound. Also, it is extremely important that he is kept as pure during that trip as he was for the last fifteen years.”

Sam already nodded, when he remembered something.

“You said rival organizations, as in plural. How many are we talking about?”

She quirked a wry smile at him.

“All of them.”

 

* * *

John grunted as he pulled the heavy metal door aside, letting the weak evening sun inside for a moment.

He really didn’t like it but he had no choice. Missouri Moseley was the only psychic he trusted to know anything about his family and he already used up all his sources. He knew something was happening but he had no idea what. In act of desperation he called out Missouri to help him. With much groaning and cursing the old woman agreed to come to one of his secret storage places.

“It’s a mess in here.” The black woman grumbled as she watched him switch the lights on. The shelves were overflowing with many hunter items he collected over the years and couldn’t really fit into the car.

This place was not only a storage for different hunter paraphernalia but also for his back up plan.

He nodded his head at the three computers sitting on the ground on the left side of the room, surrounded by as many anti magical symbols as he could get his hands on. There were protective spells so thick they felt like salt on his tongue when he approached. There also all burned out to a crisp right now, only charred marks on the floor instead of the many colorful scribbles of before.

“A few years ago I helped save a family from a poltergeist. The man was a hell of a computer programmer. He made a system for me that let me track my own cell phone locations. You see, I was always afraid a spell or something else supernatural would try to mess with my memory and having this device helped a lot. I would call back a few times a month on a specific number and get an update on all the places I have been since the last check in, in the form of GPS coordinates.”

“Well, they don’t look so helpful now.” The woman snarked looking over the charred ruins.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I wanted to know. Those protections should have held up before even a coven of witches. To have them wiped out like this… and there’s another thing.”

“Hmm?” Missouri asked distractedly.

“One computer was for me, one for Dean. That is what I remembered asking for. One tracker for every member of the Winchester family. There are three and Missouri, I have no idea what it is. I don’t remember ever putting it here. And of all of them it’s the third that is the most damaged... Something happened here, something that affected me and Dean, too. Since I found this I started up my timeline and checking out if what I remember concurs with evidence.”

“And?” the black woman looked at him curiously.

“It doesn’t. The signs are so small I almost missed them. Dean didn’t notice at all but... I think I lost two months this year. I remember hunting then, doing cases. Dean also remembers it but there are subtle discrepancies. I remember hunting Werewolves in Montana but there are no signs in local newspaper that would make me want to go there in the first place. Besides it feels... like something is missing. I keep dreaming of something I can’t see and crying. I am damn sure it’s not Mary or Dean I dream about. There are many little things that just make me think that something is not right. Can you tell me what happened here? Was it magic?”

The old woman watched him carefully.

“I tried checking you but everything seems fine. If something was done to you specifically I can’t catch it. This place though? It reeks with magic. It wasn’t just a spell that fried these computers John. It feels like a divine intervention almost. It’s so powerful it burned though all the protections like they weren’t even there. They reacted as far as I can tell but it was like spitting into a forest fire. Useless. There was so much power in this place for a moment that it feels almost... blessed, scoured clean of everything at all.”

“Who could do such a thing, or what?”

Missouri sighed, looking far older than her years.

“If I had to guess?” She asked and John nodded.

“A God.”

End of chapter 23


	2. Chapter 24

Book II: Chapter 24

 

Dean knew he was drunk. He was drunk quite often recently but it wasn’t as if anyone would see him like that or even care. His Dad bugged off a while ago and didn’t even bother answering his damn phone anymore, just sent him coordinates for cases. It rankled, more than Dean wanted to admit. Besides there was this feeling that kept haunting him for months, the sensation that something was wrong, something was missing.

He performed half a dozen cleansing spells to make sure nothing supernatural was following him or had cursed him or any of this shit.

Nothing helped.

He vaguely toyed with the idea of trying to pick up the waitress that was flirting with him for the last few hours, but decided he was too drunk to be of any use to her. He paid for the last of his drinks and got up. Luckily for him the bar was situated right next door to the cheap motel he was staying in. Recently it seemed there were a lot of motels really close to some kind of watering hole.

He managed to get to his room without too much bodily damage. Well, there was that one car bumper might be eternally impressed on his shins, but other than that he was in one piece. He stepped over the salt line with exaggerated steps and then managed to shuck his jacket off before falling in bed face first. The last thing he remembered was kicking off his boots and then came the blessed oblivion of dreams.

He was aware, in the way dreaming people often are, that it was a dream. When he felt the big palms touch his shoulders and the firm touch travel lower to his waist, he could only groan. It wasn’t weird, in the dream, that he was naked. The only thing that mattered was that the hands that touched him were warm and heavy, that the lips that traced his neck and delivered sucking, possessive kisses to his back were wet and warm.

Somehow he wasn’t scared or even surprised when the body behind him turned out to be male. It only felt impossibly hot when his dream lover pressed down with his lips and Dean felt his hot, heavy cock press against his ass. It made his breath hitch, and made him spread his legs like a slut.

He felt hot, out of breath, like he was drugged, like it was the best sex of his life. It felt familiar to him, which made him boggle when he was awake, it felt right somehow. Like his lover knew him, knew how to touch him and took no quarter from him. He gripped the bed sheets as the man behind him pressed his body more comfortably against Dean. He felt big, massive in the way Dean always found threatening rather than attractive. Still, all he could do when the man slid his large palm over his ass, down between his cheeks and pushed his fingers into Dean like he had the goddamned right to do it, was moan. It seemed right in that twisted dream logic that when the man pushed his cock into Dean, all he felt was pleasure, a kind of easy slide his logical mind knew wasn’t possible. It felt good, better than anything he felt before. Just laying there, pressed down by that massive body, being fucked, owned, possessed with a kind of calm certainty that Dean never really experienced. The cock inside him was huge and hot. Perfectly reaching all the good places, and making him see stars. He was rock hard, his cock leaking precome but he was too focused, too wrapped up in his lover to even think of reaching down and jerking himself off. He felt like he could come from this, just from this sensation of being fucked being stretched to the limit.

He woke up hot, panting, with his cock still jerking in his release.

“Fuck.” Dean swore, but it was without much heat. It’s not like it was anything new.

A few months ago he’d started getting these very hot, very erotic dreams. At first he didn’t even notice that it was a man that was his lover. He never saw his face. It was just the indistinct sensations of pleasure at first, then he became aware of more and more detail. How big the man was, how Dean trusted him. It was unreasonable, really. What could possibly make him trust anybody that much? Even when he was with Cassie it didn’t feel like it. He became aware of more and more details.

He also became more aware of men in general, and that was not something he was very comfortable with yet. Still, none of his anti-magic rituals helped, so it seemed right to assume that it was his own subconscious mind that came up with those dreams.

It wasn’t even the very flamingly gay sex that bothered him, he knew from a long time ago that he wasn’t above casting a second or even a third look at a guy, hell he even fucked a few when he was a teenager. But it was just speculative, purely platonic appraisement. He was damn sure. This however, this made him think of sex, of dirty, sweaty, animal sex with other men. Sex that happened often and for a long time. What really bothered him was the feeling of familiarity. It made him think that what he dreamed about was THE man not A man. It felt like it was a person, a real person that he knew.

Which was a load of bull, because he didn’t have friends. Just a few acquaintances from the hunting community.

Still groggy from sleep and with legs trembling like a leaf from his orgasm, Dean dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom to wash himself. He felt uncomfortably sober.

He took his clothes off, grimacing at the sticky mess and opened the water in the shower. All through it he never raised his eyes from the floor. He didn’t want to catch the sight of any reflective surface or mirrors. It was enough that he knew that the blond woman would be watching him. She always was. He would catch the sight of her from the corner of his eye in the window fronts of the shops he passed, her reflection in the windshields of the passing cars, she would stare at him head on from the bathroom mirror and flicker in the reflective shine of chromed parts. For the last half a year Dean became a veritable master of washing himself and shaving without looking in the mirror at all.

Well, he might have bought an electric razor.

The warm water felt good on his skin, but it did nothing for his hangover.

Things were going downhill fast, and he had no idea why.

* * *

“How’s it look on your side Vincent?” Sam asked, thankful that the nifty little Bluetooth in his ear allowed him to have his hands free while making phone calls. The short range communication was useless on the distance they were covering.

There was some rustling and Sam tilted his head up, to try and catch sight of the other man. Vincent was a hard man to describe. The first thing everybody noticed about him was that he was tall and scarecrow thin. Long, black, messy hair fell into his eyes, leaving most of his face obscured. He wore all black, covering every inch of skin visible. Between the extremely high necked turtleneck, long sleeved shirts and gloves, that bit of skin on his chin was anything visible of the man. Taller than even Sam, Vincent had a very specific aura about himself. Quiet, he rarely spoke, he moved with the grace of a cat. For all his odd looks and size, the man tended to fade into the wallpaper if left alone for even a minute. Mostly people never seemed to notice him.

Sam had no idea if the man was good in hand to hand combat, but he doubted he ever needed it. The speed with which Vincent could move was all but supernatural and the gun he used made sure nothing would ever come close enough to test him. His file was both thick and obscure in that it only told the last ten years of his history. He obviously had supernatural abilities. He used a kind of modified sawn off shotgun, three barreled and shooting rounds that killed everything they hit. And Vincent always hit. He was the sniper of their group. Maya told him in no uncertain terms that Vincent should be kept away from the personal killing. If he was ever forced into fighting hand to hand there was a possibility he would go berserk. If that happened Sam was advised to find a hiding hole and pray to god Vincent didn’t find him. A few old pictures of total carnage with... things... ripped up into ribbons were incentive enough.

The fact that his other senses, the Weapon always stirred uneasily in proximity to Vincent also told Sam that even though he was quiet and almost gentle in his day to day behavior, Vincent had real power at his disposal.

Having incredibly sharp eyes and even sharper aim, Vincent was usually set as a sentry or a backup sniper. This time they both were set as a front guard. Two block behind them Megan was driving the car and transporting their job – Alan. When Maya told him the man was supposed to be attractive she really didn’t tell him the whole story. The guy was around thirty and so fucking beautiful it made most people do a double take or just stare. Tall and slim, he had gently toned body and ash blond hair. Grey eyes and skin like the perfect marble. His looks alone caused them problems the first few days because he was causing a huge stir wherever people saw him. It was easier to control in the smaller towns. Now that they hit a bigger city, they preferred to keep him as far away from people as possible. Until now they managed to keep their movements hidden. They only had two days till they reached the headquarters. They couldn’t fuck it up.

Behind Megan was Michael. The newest member of their team. Sixteen and psychotic, the kid only ever took jobs that meant he could kill something. Keeping him in line was a fucking chore, the punk was antisocial, psychotic and arrogant. The fact that he was incredibly skilled in every kind of weapon known to man was just the icing on the cake.

They final member was Chris. Thirty year old man Sam’s team found and freed from slavery. Chris was born with the ability to communicate with machines, computers or anything technological. A technopath. When he was six his parents sold him to a man that locked him in a small room and used his abilities for his own gain since then. The ease with which Chris took information from computers had drawbacks however. He was easily distracted by the endless stream of data that was the Internet and often had to be pulled away to eat and move around a bit. When they saved him Chris didn’t even know how to walk any more. Megan took to forcing some physical activity on him and they all kept track of him, as not to let him get lost in the net again. He was the only member of their team that couldn’t take part in the action. He was safely hidden in a van sitting innocently among hundreds of cars in a distant shopping center. He was manning communication and watching whatever street cameras he could get his hands on.

“All clear.” The low, smooth voice was always a shock. For all his shy body language Vincent had a surprisingly sensual voice.

Sam moved his rented car into another lane, not for the first time wondering how the hell did Vincent keep up with him on the rooftops?

“Samuel?” Came Chris’ voice in his ear. “Megan is not moving.”

Sam frowned.

“A traffic jam?” He suggested.

“I don’t think so. There are no cameras where she is but there are in front and the cars are moving steadily.”

“Fuck.” Sam cursed and then spied a bit of empty sidewalk. Jerking his car onto it he managed to jump onto the opposite line and floored it, waving in and out of traffic. “Vincent, get to Megan!”

“Yes.” Came the low agreement and then Sam was too busy trying not to kill himself or somebody else to talk. He saw the smoke from half a mile away and cursed some more. It couldn’t be good.

“Michael, get to Chris’ location.” It was just too much coincidence that whatever happened to Megan, it happened in the only place not covered with cameras on the whole route. Sam didn’t believe in coincidence, not any more.

The cars in front of him started slowing down rapidly and he knew the car was actually slowing him down. He opened it and jumped out not even bothering to shut the engine down. He raced down the sidewalk, heading straight for the white smoke. When he heard a thump and then steady footsteps behind him that were gaining on rather quickly he looked back not surprised to see Vincent not far behind.

Rounding some kind of fast food booth he saw the car Megan was driving with half of the front gone, the window from passenger side broken and huge amounts of white, stinging smoke curling up from it. Both back doors were open as well as the driver side door.

At first he couldn’t see anything but when Vincent passed him and headed straight for a lump of something dark on the sidewalk Sam realized it was Megan. Her ponytail was matted with blood dripping from a nasty cut in her forehead and she was trying to move, probably trying to get up but her eyes looked bad, swollen and tearing up. She kept cursing weakly and tossing on the sidewalk, her ear piece gone.

“They went that way.” She managed hoarsely as Vincent crouched at her side. “Red Ford Taurus. Fucking tear gas.”

She was coherent and didn’t seem to be in a direct danger so Sam passed her and headed in the direction she mentioned.

“Chris?” He called, knowing the technopath would hear everything that was said there.

“Got it. Eight hundred meters in front of you.”

“And Michael?” Sam panted out, knowing it was faster to ask Chris than wait for the punk to answer.

“Closing in fast.”

Sam shut up then and added speed, hoping that in a fairly crowded city he’d be able to catch up to the car. Again he heard Vincent behind him and felt a surge of jealously as the lanky man overtook him and then jumped up to catch a trailing fire escape ladder overhead like it was nothing. Before Sam even caught up to him Vincent pulled himself up, flipped over and landed on the balcony a floor up, displaying the kind of flexibility Sam only ever saw in movies before.

The quiet gunman pulled his huge ass weapon from the thigh holster he usually kept it in, hidden by a long coat, and took position. He raised the weapon one handed, which would be a suicide move if done by anyone else, and stilled completely. For a heartbeat the black haired man wasn’t moving at all, and then he fired a shot. Just one.

Sam couldn’t see it, but heard a sudden screech of twisted metal. Whatever Vincent shot must have made the car crash.

Putting up more speed, Sam managed to catch up to the car just as driver side door opened. Not loosing his speed he slammed the door into the guy trying to get out. He grabbed the stunned man and slammed his fist directly into his temple, knocking him out instantly.

He heard the hammer click back and just managed to duck down, to avoid the spray of bullets from the passenger side. Before he figured out what to do without killing the man there was a report from a much bigger gun and the sound of shattered glass.

Vincent.

When he looked he wasn’t surprised to find the second guy with half his chest missing and decidedly dead. Not happy, but not surprised. Vincent never missed.

Even worse part was that both back doors were open. It meant they managed to get Alan into another car, and did it quick. They were way too well prepared for Sam’s peace of mind.

“Chris, you know where they went?” Sam asked, looking around, trying spot some kind of clue.

“No. The cameras were shut down.” came a rattled reply. “They know about me.”

Sam fought down the urge to cuss like a sailor.

Yes, the attackers definitely knew too much about them for it to be accidental. One of Megan’s weakest points were her eyes. Very good at night but horribly sensitive to chemicals. They managed to avoid Chris for god knows how long and they made sure that the three most dangerous melee fighters were away or distracted at the time of the grab.

The kidnappers were either en route to their headquarters or were already torturing Alan for information the man probably didn’t even have. From what little Sam had learned when he talked with the guy, Alan either didn’t know much about his masters business or was determined to keep it secret.

They were screwed either way.

 

* * *

When the doors started rattling, Dean knew he needed to cut his shower short. He and the unnamed ghost had each other trained very, very well. She abstained from throwing things at him and he stopped throwing iron objects at her. However when she started to play with doors or windows it was mostly a sign to Dean that he should leave. Eight times it saved him from cops trying to sneak on him, a bunch of times she lead him straight into a hunt. It was always a bitch to explain to his father how the hell he’d found a hunt when there weren’t any clues.

Grumbling he stepped out from the shower, quickly wrapping himself in the towel, not really appreciating the feeling of being stared at by a dead gal.

The door rattled harder.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. I need to get dressed okay?”

The rattling stopped but he knew that if he lingered, she would not be so nice in hurrying him up next time. One too many bumps on the head made him remember to hustle up.

Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that when he got into Impala, his fatigued road map was already open with a small town in Ohio sitting exactly in the middle of the page.

“Biscott, huh?”

Resigned to his fate, and already anticipating the hunt, Dean started up the car. He had a really long trip in front of him.

 

End chapter 24


	3. Chapter 25

Book II: Chapter 25

“Chris?” Sam tapped the ear bud again but the only thing he could hear was static. They’d all lost communication almost ten minutes ago.

He was crouched in a small room that used to be a utility closet in the abandoned hospital on the outskirts of the town where they lost their charge. Sam managed to trace the kidnappers here and they planned the extraction.

They already lost eight hours and couldn’t afford a minute more. The hastily made plan was not very good but they were not average people.

Chris was supposed to man communication again, Vincent was left outside to act as a sniper and support where needed. Sam was mostly worried about backup arriving too soon. Michael was supposed to guard their escape route and keep it free no matter what. Sam found that clear cut orders were best for the uncontrollable teen. He and Megan were supposed to go in and search the place.

Sam knew that Allan was here. He couldn’t say why or how, just that he was sure that their man was somewhere in the building.

He rubbed the left side of his chest idly, feeling the cold burn spread. The weapon was waking up more, taking over more of his thought process. Everything seemed clearer, sharper now, and things mattered less. He no longer panicked at the thought that one of his team might get hurt. He knew it was something to be avoided, but it held no personal significance to him any more.

Logically he knew that detachment wasn’t something he wanted to cultivate, but it was really hard to remember why any more. Those episodes happened more and more often recently, just one of the symptoms his uneven partnership with the Weapon caused.

Right now he had to agree that things weren’t looking good for them. Megan with her enhanced speed and strength should have been the perfect partner, and she was, but they didn’t count on there being quite so many of the bad guys there. They were armed to the teeth and there were at least twenty of them.

Sam tried to signal for help from Vincent, but from the steady rapport of his gun they could hear from the outside, Sam judged Vincent couldn’t come even if called.

While they could deal with the men, they really couldn’t do it with the healer. It was Megan who noticed first, that the men she shot to incapacitate were up and running in a matter of minutes, the wounds covered in a subtle green glow before disappearing completely.  
It ended with them being stuck here, in this tiny room that was slowly filling with the scent of blood.

He turned to look and wasn’t surprised to find Megan even paler than before. The side of her head was still bloody from the car accident, she didn’t have time to do more than clean it a bit with paper towers. She was also grimly bandaging her thighs where she’d been clipped by a stray bullet. Beside her, wrapped in a thin blanket was Allan. The man was semi conscious, drugged to the gills, and looked barely alive himself. Whoever took him didn’t count on the fact that Allan had almost no contact with chemical drugs of any kind. His master insisted on him being treaded only with holistic medicine. Thy probably shot him up with drugs to keep him pliant, instead they nearly killed him.

Megan finished with her leg and pulled out both her guns. She checked the ammo and frowned.

“I’m almost out.”

Sam didn’t even need to pull his gun out. He had five bullets left.

Whatever they took with them lasted only till they found Allan. It wouldn’t be enough to get them out, he knew that already.

“We’re on the second floor. There’s a window at the end of the hallway.”

Sam looked at her, at the rapidly darkening stain on the bandage.

“Will you be able to jump?” He asked quietly. Normally that wouldn’t even be a question but besides being in a car crash, and getting shot, Megan had taken a heavy beating in the last half an hour.

She licked her lips and looked at the floor.

“Not any more.” She admitted slowly. “If you give me your ammo, I can maybe cover you to the window, while you carry Allan.”

Sam wished he could feel something at that moment, wished he could be more human. He knew what she was saying. It was all over her face. Megan was going to stay behind to cover their escape. The fact that she couldn’t make the jump indicated that she had more damage than she was admitting. The chances of her surviving were very... small.

Sam didn’t say anything, because what was there to say? He just pulled his guns out and started removing the bullets. They all had the Beretta as their main weapon because it made it easier in situations like these.

“If you are alive, I will come for you.” He offered quietly, whishing he could feel something, anything at that moment.

Megan lowered her head, the chestnut ponytail sliding over her neck and cheek.

“If I’m alive.” She murmured.

Hefting Allan’s unconscious form up, Sam wondered what Dean would do in situation like this. Probably something totally crazy that would save them all. But Dean wasn’t here and probably wouldn’t ever be.

Like the veteran soldier she was, Megan hefted herself up, standing firmly on her injured leg and took a gun in each hand. She was nowhere near Vincent’s level of marksmanship, at close distance she was good enough. They were both well past avoiding casualties now. Being outnumbered almost ten to one, with the other side having a high level healer as a back up, they really didn’t have a choice any more.

At his nod, Megan rushed the door and started shooting. Sam took a running start and passed her in the hallway, tucking his head low and curling his body around the limp one in his arm. Everything seemed to slow down. Megan’s shots were a kind of ugly soundtrack to his steps as he ran towards the window. He didn’t dare look back, but kept half an ear on the sound behind him. He heard Megan’s bullets find their targets, the odd meaty sound they made as they entered flesh, heard the curses, the shouting and the change in the rhythm of the fight.

The element of surprise was gone.

There was someone in front of him, gun already drawn, but Sam didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, trusting Megan to do her job. He saw the guy drop suddenly, the gun skittering to the floor and then a strangled sound from Megan.

She’d been shot again.

He wanted to check, but he was already at the window. Flinging himself at the dirty glass Sam turned in the air so that it was his shoulder that hit the glass. It also gave him the opportunity to look back at the men chasing them. Megan was bleeding heavily, one of her arms hanging uselessly at her side. Her face was twisted with rage, and the fingers of her other hand were tipped now in deadly, four inch claws that were gouging the eyes of the man closest to her. The last thing Sam saw before gravity took hold of him was Megan going down under a press of bodies.

He landed hard, knees taking more than their share of pressure, but held. Briefly, he wondered what would have happened to him after a jump like this before his body was changed by the Weapon.

Not waiting for his pursuers to get a grip on themselves, he heaved the unconscious body across his shoulders and launched into a sprint, hoping to get as far away from the building as possible.

His ear peace crackled suddenly.

“M… gan… … s… swe…. me!” came Chris’ voice, barely understandable through the distortion.

They were right, the whole building was being covered by some kind of distortion field. It could be a device or a spell. Magic had the tendency to not play well with any kind of technology.

“Chris, tell me what’s going on.” Sam tried to use the comm., hoping this time it would take.

There was a lot of crackling and some broken words, too messed up to understand. He ran further away from the building, hoping it would give him a better connection. Even so far away from the street where they’d parked their car, Sam could hear the sound of firefight, the gunshots coming hard and heavy.

Too heavy.

He saw the low brick wall denoting the boundary of the hospital grounds and put on more speed.

“I need backup.” He growled into the comm., frustrated by the fact that he didn’t know what was going on at all.

There was some crackling and then suddenly, Chris’ voice came loud and clear in his ear.

“Negative. Vincent is busy holding the reinforcements away from the hospital, he’s got them pinned in a back alley and Michael is barely managing to keep the car clear. We won’t last long Samuel. There’s no one to send.” 

“I’m coming from the park side.”

“Shit.” Chris swore, well aware it was the opposite side of where their get away car was parked.

“And Megan? I can’t get a hold of her.”

Sam didn’t answer the last question. It was no use telling Chris that the woman was down, probably dead, definitely wounded and that they couldn’t go back for her. He was all too aware of the unspoken thing brewing between Megan and their resident technopath.

When he was just ten feet away from the low wall, he suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

It wasn’t instinct that made him throw himself to the left before he even saw what it was that he sensed. It was darker, stronger and infinitely more dangerous. The bullet that was meant for his head, shredded his shoulder and scraped his collar bone in a vomit inducing wave of pain. He rolled on the wet, muddy ground, getting away from the unconscious form that fell with him. While he could easily survive a few bullet holes, the completely human body he was carrying couldn’t.

He felt the familiar cold burning though his chest, felt the sudden drain on his consciousness and the way he slipped gently into the back seat of his own mind. When he got up, it wasn’t Sam Winchester that faced the three armed men that were waiting for him in the shadows of the old courtyard. Without any thought on his part, the long, curved knife materialized in his hand. His eyesight became a thousandt times more accurate, the three dark clad figures advancing on them almost glowed in the dark.

The man that shot first raised his weapon again, training it on Sam but his movements were slow, almost sluggish, ridiculously easy to avoid. Just a step to the side and the shot went wide.

This time the two remaining goons realized that something had to be done if they wanted to get back what he’d stolen from them and stepped up, both pulling the guns out. They were well trained but not quite well enough. The first goon, obviously the leader and the one on his right were standing way to close. Without warning he rushed at them, heedless of the shots coming his way. The fatal ones he avoided and the less dangerous ones he allowed to hit. It wasn’t like it would slow him down.

When he was close enough he launched himself up, hitting the boss with his feet right on the shoulders, letting his fall crush the boss under his whole weight. Even as he felt both shoulder joints crunch under his feet he lashed out at the one on the right, now in reach of his hand. The knife transferred itself into the other hand in less than a blink of an eye and all he felt was the very brief resistance under the blade as the man’s head was cleanly severed.

Rolling away the same instant he felt the resistance give had saved him from the sudden spray of bullets from his left and the spray of blood simultaneously.

The third man seemed better trained than he expected, recovering in the short time and aiming for Sam so quickly.

He rolled further away, hoping to get into deeper shadows, hoping to spare this body more of the injuries. Physical pain was not something felt or dealt with on a longer basis, it was always something that his hosts suffered, so he tried to avoid as much as possible for their sake.

He was so focused on the third standing shooter that he forgot about the damn healer, hidden somewhere and almost made a sound when a sudden hail of bullets came from behind him, grazing his leg and almost making him fall.

The one with crushed shoulder was already up and shooting, taking him in cross fire. They were also, conveniently, herding him away from his change.

Out of options, he did the only reasonable thing and threw the knife at the nearest shooter with the intent to kill. Not only kill his body, that was something he had no qualms about, but kill his very soul. The weapon was faster than even the bullet, burying itself between the man’s eyes. As soon as the blade slid home, the whole body flashed, like a light bulb burning out and then he fell, lifelessly to the ground. No healer could help this man now.

Turning to face the last live opponent, he called the weapon back to his hand. It melted into shadows and coalesced soundlessly in his palm, perfect and untouched by gore.

This last one was going to be difficult. Surviving the first encounter, had made him much more careful. The gun was trained on Samuel and in the few seconds Sam had to take the situation in, he understood that he was going to take damage again. The distance to his opponent was about twelve feet, and that was too much. It was the best distance for short range weapons. If he managed to lessen the distance to eight feet or less, he would be able to avoid the bullets with a fairly large probability.

He lunged to his left, forcing the man to move his arm outwards and that was always the less effective move, forcing the person to turn their head to follow the movement, thus loosing precious reaction time.

He could almost feel the first bullet whiz millimeters by his ear, could tell the next was going to hit flesh. Using the existing environmental features seemed as the most logical action, so instead of trying to get down to avoid the bullets, he chose to go up. He forced the changed muscles to launch his body up, hitting the trunk of the nearest tree with one leg and using his momentum to bounce off it into another tree. He bounced twice, from left to right and back, each hit higher on the trunk, until the last gunman had to look up to follow his movements.

It was the universal weakness of humankind. They didn’t see danger in the sky and even if they trained to look up, their reaction times were always significantly slower when the danger was above. It was as if instinct was impeding their thought process.

He fell on the man with all of his weight, the blade slicing through his neck, the spine giving in under the pressure with a quiet pop. The man was dead before they hit the ground, but remembering his earlier mistake he continued the cut till the blade came free on the other side of the dead man’s neck.

Sam’s senses, heightened by the battle detected a muffled noise behind him and he turned instantly to the new threat.  
It wasn’t a new gunman, it was the man they were supposed to guard. Half awake and staring at him like he was some kind of monster straight from a horror movie. Straightening slowly, he shook off as much of the quickly drying blood as possible and headed to the man still laying on the ground. While Alan regained consciousness, at least briefly, he didn’t look as if he was able to move by himself. Still it would be easier to move him now that he wasn’t a dead weight.

As he approached the blond man, he let Sam Winchester take control again, the boy waiting quietly for his turn. It was odd, this separation that was forced on them by the mind rapists that called themselves healers. It did lessen the strain his presence had on the body and soul of his carrier, but it was unnatural. They were supposed to be a unity, a single soul. This separation, this unwanted independence was not something he accepted lightly. Which was odd in itself, because he couldn’t remember having an opinion ever before.

As the Sam part of his personality became more prominent, he felt the battle marks receding from his face, the inky blackness slowly crawling back into his eyes, burning all the way through. His eyes never looked human anymore. It didn’t matter to him but he could feel how it jarred his young carrier every time he saw his face in a reflective surface. The modern invention known as sunglasses became a necessity for them when in public.

He turned away from watching Sam trying to calm down the agitated blond and faded as much into the background of Sam’s mind as possible, resting, until something jarred him completely awake again. As much as the boy would like it, they could never be truly separated, a part of them would forever remained joined and aware, ready to call him back to the forefront if necessary.

 

Tbc


End file.
